Master of His Own House
by Primavera Script
Summary: AU. S/R. What would Sirius' life be like if he had never known Remus and had lived his life as family and society expected of him, until the two encountered each other for the first time...
1. Keep Holding On

**So this is my very first fanfic! Ever. So please show me some love and leave me some comments. **

AU. How incomplete would their lives be if neither had met but simply lived life as society expected them to? Set during an indeterminate point in time.  
I own nothing. Nothing. Oh, except the OCs of course.

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_(Keep Holding On)_

He saw him on the street. Just as he and his wife left the charity function at the museum. It was a simple brushing of shoulder against shoulder as they passed one another. The involuntary response - turn to acknowledge, apologize and move on in a glance, but that glance stopped him dead.

A flash of striking gold eyes enthralled his mind until a pull at his elbow brought him back, and just as quickly, Sirius Black slipped into the awaiting carriage and the image scored into his mind vanished into dark streets of Budapest.

* * *

What was it about ancient houses, Remus wondered, that they all had extremely narrow halls covered in extremely dark wallpapers?

In the course of his career, Remus Lupin had seen many such houses and they each maintained the same basic layout. There was always a large, sometimes gaudily decorated, receiving room which was invariably empty of anything to suggest it was lived in much. Next would be the dining room with the table large enough to seat four families, and he supposed in the circle of high society, one might have need of such a table, but no familial dining rooms ever seemed to exist. There were the kitchens, rarely seen and certainly never used by the family themselves. And then of course, there were the libraries.

The libraries, being really the only reason Remus was allowed to become so acquainted with the houses of the pureblood families. Remus Lupin was a librarian of a peculiar sort. One could call him a personal librarian, he supposed, although he never stayed with one job for very long. Generally, he was brought in to catalogue and order the ancient libraries that had a tendency to accumulate themselves in the houses of old money. And he supposed some of the aforementioned libraries were large enough he could almost stay on permanently, but as no one ever seemed to read any of the books whose care he was charged with, he rarely saw the point. Inevitably, he would move on, and strangely, there always seemed to be another family somewhere in Europe that would answer his add. He was never quite sure how it was he came to such a position, but there it was.

As for the constant travelling, well, his mother would say it had nothing to do with lack of occupation. She would say it was the Gypsy in his blood. His father had been one of the nomadic Roma and his mother, a young Parisian woman, had fallen madly in love with him one hot summer. Mere weeks later they had wed in India. But not love, marriage, nor family could keep his father in one place for long, and one day he had moved on again, leaving his young wife heartbroken and his small son with a difficult bloodline.

It was all very romantic, but Remus simply shook his head and called it nonsense. Really, it was just not logical for him to stay in one place. He had to go where the opportunities were and sadly, there were few opportunities for one afflicted with lycanthropy. And so it was that he, like his father, broke his mother's heart again and again, each time he left her.

The latest job for him was somewhat closer to home, however. The Black estate in the English countryside, and it was the halls of which he was currently navigating. Ahead of him, his hostess walked swiftly, confidant of her every turn through the mazelike place. Quite quickly they reached the library and Remus found himself very impressed. At a glance, he could already tell it was one of the premier collections in Western Europe and it saddened him knowing how unlikely it was that the family might ever actually read any of the ancient tomes.

"Well, I'll leave you to associate yourself with the library until dinner. My husband will be better able to tell you what needs doing, he can be quite… specific, in how he prefers things and I would suggest you don't begin anything until you've spoken with him." The lady of the house was quite young yet he could see she could be a formidable person indeed as her eyes held his in what was almost a challenge. She was slender with thin manicured eyebrows over quiet green eyes and complimented by pale brown hair, but in every movement and word she exuded a sense of determination.

"Of course," Remus replies, eyes still roving over the leather bound inhabitants of the room. He felt he should say something else to assure her he was not some lunatic she was about to leave unaccompanied in her home, but nothing came to mind. For a moment they stood together awkwardly before Mrs. Black turned abruptly and left.

With nothing else to do, he placed his small case atop an unoccupied desk and went off to familiarize himself with the stacks.

* * *

"Really, Reagan, what you think we need a librarian for, I cannot comprehend," Sirius said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he packed away the papers he had been staring at numbly for the past hour with a firm flick of the wand.

"My dear, it's so dreary up there and well, I know that Hélène and Jean have had someone in to catalogue their library and isn't ours much larger? Certainly it is in much more need of some attention."

"Yes, well, what do you care about the state of the library? When was the last time you stepped foot in there for anything more than to interrupt me with some inane question about decorating?" Sirius could see his wife's eyes narrow at that but he really wasn't in the mood to care about her hurt feelings. When she said nothing further, Sirius gave up assuming he had a say in how his house was run and asked "Well, when is this librarian to arrive then?"

"He's already here. I left him in the library, but don't get cross with me, I told him already that you were particular about it and that he wasn't to touch anything until you spoke with him at dinner," she retorted haughtily.

"You just left him upstairs."

"Yes, of course, what else was I to have done with him?"

Sirius sighed heavily, increasingly impatient with the woman. Perhaps there was something to be said for the pureblood families and their intermarriages. At least the prospective couples had grown up knowing what they'd be stuck with. Sirius' mother had insisted on a wife from one of the other European pureblood families upon hearing of the unfortunate and embarrassing incidence with Andromeda. Now, here he was, twenty-nine and attached to a woman he was utterly indifferent about and could hardly bring himself to speak to after seven years.

Reagan seemed to realise she would get no further conversation from him and so she disappeared to do Merlin knew what, with little no remark, as she was wont to do. Almost immediately Sirius relaxed but was at a loss about what to do with himself. Usually he would go off to his library but did not want to go up there and deal with the intruder just now.

Sirius soon found himself wandering the halls. His aimless stride carried him to the dilapidated tower rising out of the west wing. Without much thought to it, he ascended the spiralling iron stairway and climbed out into the cool evening air. He seated himself against the rough granite, letting the calm from the sleeping stone seep into himself. He sat quite still as the last vestiges of daylight raced from the sky and the stars awoke. He would not go down to dinner yet. He was waiting for her to come out first. His Johanna.

How was it that his life was so infinitely over before it had quite begun?

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	2. Wake Up

**Reviews are Love!**

The good ol' HP characters aren't mine. I fairly sure I would have noticed if I had that kind of surpluss money coming in.

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_(Wake Up)_

Remus had been quite surprised when he stumbled across the small section of muggle classical literature and at the same time quite pleased. Another thing that he had noticed in many of the homes he had been to was that very few of them possessed anything along the lines of what one might consider 'everyday reading'. Most of the valuable collections he had perused in his time consisted of books that had seen decades upon decades and left to moulder. Antiquated tomes of spells no longer used in languages no longer understood. And most often, manuscript after manuscript about the families themselves. In short, books better suited to the hands of scholars in universities who wrote papers about such things which no one would ever read.

He was immersed in the small collection when a small something cleared its throat at his elbow, making him jump and snapping shut the novel quickly as if he had been caught doing something he ought not to be. He had not heard the crusted looking house elf enter, but he supposed that was rather their job, to go unnoticed like that.

"The Lady would like me to take you to the dining room, _sir_," it leered in a choking voice before vanishing off down the hallway. Afraid that he would be left to wander the labyrinthine halls for all eternity should he lose his guide, Remus quickly tucked away the novel and darted after the old thing, amazed that it was actually capable of such speed.

He came to a stop just outside the dining room and smoothed his hair, fixed his collar and attempted to collect himself before entering the room slowly. A place was set for him just slightly apart from the two occupants of the table, and yet close enough that they were still able to speak quite easily. However, Remus feared this would be a very uncomfortable evening no matter the seating arrangements.

At the head of the table was Black himself, and Remus attempted to take in as much of him as possible indirectly. Raven hair fell about his face and hung nearly to his shoulders and clear grey eyes stared unfocused as his mind wandered. Though he was no youth, the expression upon his clean shaven face was almost one of a child made to endure something unpleasant and Remus almost fancied he would stick out his tongue the next time his wife turned away from him. His brooding attention seemed to be fixed wholly on the crystal glass in his hands and he did not look up right away when Remus entered.

When he sat, he gave a cursory glance to the place settings and a whole new set of fears washed over him. The charming silverware engraved with a serpent design appeared to be actual silver. He tried to school his breathing as his mind jumped from excuse to excuse about why precisely he was going to have to avoid using any cutlery. Perhaps he could suddenly take ill, or claim to have eaten an entire herd of cattle just before his arrival, three hours ago. Maybe luck would be with him and the family would prefer to eat with their hands and not mind at all that their guest had decided to undergo priestly vows only the day before, giving up all the finer things in life, including utensils.

Displeased with his own creativeness, Remus stared dourly at the silver spoon glinting next to the bowl of soup which had just appeared before him. He flinched resignedly as he was about to pick up the spoon, when he noticed that he was not the only one who had not yet begun his meal. Suddenly, the man at the head of the table had refocused all of his attention on Remus, brandy glass forgotten in his hand.

Remus cleared his throat and was about to say something, perhaps about the weather, when Black spoke.

"Who are you?" he asked, almost angrily.

"The, the librarian…" Remus replied, a little shocked.

"Well, of course you are, but what is your name?" he persisted, raising an eyebrow.

"Er, Remus. Lupin." Yes, very eloquent.

Remus' answer seemed to suffice for now, as Black went back to his brooding contemplation once more, eyes trained on him still. His skin began to crawl as if trying to escape the piercing glare, leaving Remus to fend for himself.

It appeared there was no hope of his not eating going unnoticed and so, as much as he wished otherwise, his only hope of distraction was conversation.

"You have a very impressive collection," he began, saying really the only thing he could think to say to him.

"Is that your professional opinion?"

"Well, I've worked for many of the families in Europe and few can compare."

When he could see Black begin to reply, Remus moved as if to pick up his spoon again, only to be distracted as he replied, "'Librarian' isn't generally an occupation one considers in relation to travel so I imagine you have a very singular niche in the market."

"Yes, well, I really couldn't tell you how I got into it, but it is certainly intriguing work. Though again, I suppose most people wouldn't often associate the two terms 'intriguing' and 'librarian' either."

Black put down his glass and leaned forward, intent on the conversation now and Remus breathed a mental sigh of relief; if he could keep this on through the main course he could claim fatigue by the time coffee was served.

They spoke of the different regions of Europe, Remus adding in his tales of the collections he had seen, private versus university, and more often than not, went off on tangents for long periods of the conversation before remembering they had started out discussing books. It was easy to forget that he was speaking with his employer, a man who only moments before had made him nervous as hell, in fact, for Black was very intelligent and Remus felt at times as if they were trying to outwit one another like college students trying out their newly minted knowledge. On the whole, with the exception of the threat of silver poisoning at his elbow, it was turning out to be quite an enjoyable evening. As they turned to the older regions of the world, Remus was quite comfortable indeed.

"For instance, the libraries in the Hungarian universities are filled with such ancient tomes, even with the layers upon layers of spells on them, I was sure if I touched anything it would crumble to dust in my hands. But I mean, the subjects themselves are just so far removed from what one would find In London."

"When were you in Hungary?" Black asked, eyes narrowing. Suddenly, the haze of comfort had burned away and Remus felt as if he were under inspection again.

"Oh, it must have been in December, last year."

* * *

Sirius couldn't make his eyes leave the man across from him, there was something about him that he could not place. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the man; he had the same pale skin and underfed appearance that most scholars seemed to have. His hair was the same dusty brown as many of the books in his trade and the almost stereotypical ink stains had spread through the whorls of his left-hand index and middle fingers. In fact, it perhaps said a lot about the man that the most interesting part of his appearance was his hands.

But just now, when the librarian had let down his carefully cultivated guard, as he made eye contact with him (and it wasn't until he did so that Sirius realised he had not met his gaze the whole time they were speaking) that Sirius was struck silent by him. Something in his eyes was familiar. Somehow, he knew this man. He could almost remember; it was on the tip of his mind. Why did Hungary seem to mean something? December of last year… There was very little of last year that he could recall. But his thoughts were interrupted.

"Sirius, I think perhaps we should show Mr. Lupin his room now." Sirius was somewhat shocked, he had entirely forgotten about his wife's presence at the table. Before he could even take the time to sort through the possible meaning of this, the man was up and gone, to be tucked away in some far corner of the house where mysteries belonged. Sirius was not sure how much longer he sat there, staring at the man's now vacated seat, but when the candle light began to tunnel his vision, he took himself off to bed. He came to the master suite and took a sharp right, heading for what had once been one of the larger of the visitors' rooms. It had been more than a year since he had shared a room with his wife. He could not handle that now.

His dreams were not pleasant. Rarely did he have pleasant dreams anymore, mostly unremarkable purgatorial dreams which he could never remember the next day. Tonight, however, he was not so lucky. Sirius tossed and kicked away the sheets all night. Whenever he closed his eyes he was haunted by visions of a small raven-haired being with sparkling green eyes. Then those eyes would change to a golden brown and disappear into the swirling black cloaks of a masquerade. He hunted for those eyes, both of them, on the snow covered, night streets of a far away country only to jolt awake again.


	3. We Will Go Home

As I was writing this chapter, I got the strange feeling that maybe I've read _Jane Eyre _a few too many times…

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_(We Will Go Home)_

Remus was just about to put out the candle at his bedside when he realised his case was nowhere to be found. His suitcase and satchel had been at the foot of the single bed when he arrived, but what had he done with the brief? Then it came to him; the mad dash to catch up to the ancient house elf, barely having time to put away the book in his hand let alone retrieve his effects. Really, he should wait and retrieve it in the morning, surely it was safe enough where he had left it, but it felt strange not to have it in his sight. In this vast house, he had left a piece of his miniscule self somewhere it shouldn't't be, and before Remus could tell himself he was being ridiculous, he had shut the door softly behind him and was on his way to the library once more. It was hard to say for sure in a house where each hall and door was the same, but he had thought his room not far from the library when a much more congenial house elf had led him there. As he walked down the shadow laced hall, he prayed he wouldn't't lose his way, only to be discovered sleeping on the staircase in the morning.

Luck was with him, after a short walk he came to the double doors of the library, one still a crack open, presumably from his hasty exit earlier. He slipped through and hunted half blind around the desktop where he was sure he had left his case. He frowned when his fingers failed to turn anything up in their search and just as he was starting to panic, a voice cleared itself behind him.

"Is this what you are looking for? They're very good, you know. But it's not what one would expect." When the shock of someone else being in the room wore off, Remus was able to turn around and saw only the back of a rather shabby armchair in front of the fire. He took a couple steps towards it once his heart started up again, and as he rounded the desk he saw one a pair of very long legs stretched out before it. One was bent at the knee and had taken up residence on an equally worn stool while the other trailed rather gracefully over the carpet. Caught up as he was in the examining of these legs, Remus had almost forgotten someone would be attached to them until he spoke again. "Well, don't just hover there in the dark. Come. Sit." Remus perched on the edge of an ornate wingback chair. Not only did it look much newer, it looked by far to be the less comfortable choice of the two. But he was not worried about that. All Remus' attention was focused on the sheaf of papers in Black's hand.

"When I discovered this lying about on the desk I assumed I would find the life's work of yet another librarian yearning to be a writer. Instead, I find these. As I said, very good, and quite a surprise." He stopped shuffling through the papers for a moment to regard a piece that was almost entirely black, yet wrought with minute detail for all the monotone. On the paper, a great, grey wolf prowled through dense underbrush. The charcoal etched page was a dappled forest of black and greys, no white paper to be seen. Remus blushed at the sight of it. Partly because any art is such a personal thing, and partly because of the image it depicted. He tried to look at something other than the paper and with very little forethought on the matter his attention was caught by Black's hands. He had long, slender fingers. Strong. They reminded Remus instantly of the legs he had been admiring only moments before and as his thought travelled there his face became a degree redder than before.

Black slipped the papers into the portfolio and handed it to Remus. Remus searched for something to say to this man, to break the heavy silence, but Black quietly rose from his seat and left the library as if he had never been there in the first place. Remus was left to stare wonderingly after him.

After that night, Remus' life was not so strange. He set to work in the library, creating a catalogue in one of the empty ledger books he preferred to use. For the next week, he was not asked to join the family for dinner again and was quite relieved for it. Instead he spent his mornings working on the massive display of books, ate a private lunch in his room, and was left with the evening to do as he pleased with himself. More often than not, Remus found himself in the library in the evening, too, wanting to enjoy the collection as he was too professional to do as he worked. Black seemed to be careful about not coming to the library as he worked. In fact, the only time Remus ever saw him, it was seemingly accidental. He had the feeling Black preferred not to be seen, though he was sure every now and then as he worked, that he had entered the room. Yet if Remus looked for him, he would only hear the large doors slowly closing. Perhaps Black thought it would make him uncomfortable if he were to be there as he worked, then again, why would a Black ever care what made _him_ uncomfortable. So he allowed himself to become absorbed in the simple pleasure of such menial tasks. Remus wasn't sure when his services had become _en vogue_ for the wealthy and well read, but all in all the work suited him fine. One night, engrossed in a musty copy of _Paradise Lost_, Remus suddenly glanced up at one of the large, darkened windows. He paused in his reading for a moment to gaze at the swollen moon in the sky, silently reminding him of the more terrible days ahead. Then next afternoon, Remus went in search of Black. The task was turning out to be a more difficult one than he would have thought. The dreary house was being attacked by house elves with dusters in every corner, and a delicious sent was filling the halls near the kitchen.

Remus came upon the lady of the Black house in the main entranceway. She appeared to be trying to decide on whether to have an ostentatious bouquet of belladonna or an equally ostentatious bouquet of asphodel. Each time she changed her mind there was a burst of pollen in the air surrounding her, so Remus did not even attempt to ask her about her husband's location. Finally he gave up attempting to pursue him in the upheaval and returned to the quieter library only to discover Black seemed to have similar ideas. "Ah, I had just been searching for you; I need to speak with you." "Well, better you than _her_. She's been nattering at me all week for opinions on the most redundant things. It's her party and I want no part of it."

Unsure of how to respond to the outburst, Remus cleared his throat and continued, "You see, I'll need to be away for the next three days."

"Three days? And where are you planning to go?" Black scowled. Remus was taken aback by his sudden mood and he stuttered as he tried to come up with a feasible lie. Why hadn't he thought about this in advance?

"Ah, well. I, uh. To Calais," he spat out. Black turned to stare at him, but Remus was spared having to come up with anything more concrete when the doors of the library suddenly burst open. "Sirius! People will be arriving any minute, what are you doing in here?" As she said this, Lady Black's eyes flicked at Remus as if it were definitely, in some way, his fault. Whatever the issue was. Remus took the opportunity to make a silent exit, his thoughts in another place than Black's odd behaviour.

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Now don't worry, I promise all the good and tingly kind of stuff everyone is waiting for is coming up in the next chapter!  
- **Primavera**


	4. When You're Gone

Everyone belongs to their respective creators.

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_(When You're Gone)_

He had said three days. Sirius glanced at the mantle clock. It was late evening of the third day and the librarian had yet to return. He would know - Sirius had been hiding in the library for the better part of the day. He had not wish to spend another moment with the peacocks of society that now ran rampant in his home. For the past three days, he had played his part, wore his smile, but today he could not. Reagan seemed to understand this, in her way. She had only come in search of him once and no doubt the state he was in was shocking enough that she would make his excuses for him. As he sat, waiting for Merlin knew what, Sirius could bring himself to do nothing more than stare out the window at the black overcast night. There was no bright layer of snow, reflecting off the streets like the crystals on a reveller's mask. It was a very different night and yet his every thought was a memory of that other place.

Whatever did he want in France anyways? Did he have a house there? Unlikely for someone who seemed to live out of a suitcase. A woman? Tucked away in some depressingly cosy beach house. Sirius scowled and then looked back at the small photograph in his hands. He clutched it as if fearing it would be taken from him. For a long while he simply stared at it, silent, even in his mind. He must have fallen asleep, however briefly, for a moment later he was awoken by a muffled thump and a curse from the hall. No doubt a lost guest stumbling drunkenly in search of his own bed. Sirius wrenched himself from the cushions of his armchair and went to redirect the wandering soul. He swung open the door to find his librarian righting an overturned stand with one hand, clutching his side with the other and breathing quite raggedly.

"You said three days."

The man spun around, startled, "I, uh…" he glanced down the hall to his left, where the sound of people laughing and enjoying good music and better liquor floated up the stairs before collecting himself. His brilliant eyes flashed back to Sirius, "It is not yet midnight."

Sirius looked him over. His cheeks were a little more hollow than usual, though a couple days' growth of stubble did its best to hide that. Violent, purple shadows clouded under his eyes which were bloodshot themselves. And he was still clutching at his side. On the whole he looked as if he had been thrown off the edge of the cliffs and then climbed back up to have another go.

"Come." Sirius pushed the door open wider. "You look like Hell."

"I-I have been ill," he answered lamely, following Sirius over to the hearth.

"I can see that."

The man stumbled as he rounded the table again and Sirius reached out automatically to steady him, "Here." He lowered the ragged librarian into his armchair. For a moment he thought he would protest but Sirius' hands lingered over him in the shocked pause, causing a flush of red to rise in his cheeks instead.

"Ah, and now you will not look at me." Before the superbly flustered man could reply Sirius had sat down across from him on the wingback and poured out a measure of brandy. He pushed it towards the librarian's trembling hands. "As you can see I have been hiding from the splendour all day. I had expected I would at least have some company during my chosen exile, but I was not so fortunate. So tell me, librarian, what is in France?" And now _he_ was babbling.

"Remus."

Somehow those two syllables made Sirius warm, "Remus, then."

"My mother," he began, "she lives in Calais and I have not seen her in a little over a year. I thought I would take the opportunity while I was relatively close and pay her a visit." He looked away as he said this, he was not telling him all. "So there was no further compelling reason to your sudden departure? Merely a whim?"

"I, er. Yes."

At this point, Sirius was not sure what was more appealing, the sudden mystery surrounding Remus, or the way he became so easily flustered.

* * *

Remus had been so exhausted that morning, he had allowed himself to sleep much later than he should have. Even so, arriving at the Black house at nearly eleven, he was quite ready to drop back into bed. Any bed. It had been a difficult transformation. The entire night, the wolf had been restless, not just to see the moon in the sky and run beneath it, listening to his paws padding over the earth, but restless as if it longed for something. Remus had a bad feeling he knew what that something was. Taking a quick drink of the brandy he had been offered, he glanced sideways at Black. He stared at Remus, much like the first night. His expression was still agonized, but in a different way.

Remus ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes in exasperation. All he wanted was to go to bed. He was not capable of being around his man right now. This man who silently observed him as if there was no possible thing he couldn't read in Remus' eyes. He did his best not to make eye contact and to keep his jacket wrapped tightly around himself. No doubt he had opened up the gash on his side when he practically fell over the stand in the hall, and he did not want to explain where it had come from if Black should notice it.

"You should eat something. You don't look as if you've touched anything but water since you left." With that, Black rose from his seat and vanished. Either Remus was very out of it or Black was very fast, for it was only a moment before he reappeared, a nondescript house elf in his wake, bearing a tray that, happily, held only a simple bowl of broth. He did not think he could have handled anything as rich as what might have been brought up from the party downstairs.

Really, it was a mark of just how exhausted he was that Remus had eaten two mouthfuls before he dropped the spoon, suddenly feeling quite nauseated and realising why. Of course, the silverware. Taking a few deep breaths, Remus managed to mostly quell the urge to be sick, then panic filled him as he realised what he had done and he felt ill again for an entirely different reason. Remus lifted his eyes to see Black staring back at him just as hard.

"I almost stopped you," he whispered, "at the last second. But I needed to be sure."

Remus was at a loss for words. He was also rather shocked at himself, allowing something as small as a silver inlaid spoon to reveal his condition like that. He would never find another job. As the excruciating silent moments drew longer and Black wasn't threatening him and telling him to leave immediately, the overwhelming sense of panic receded ever so slightly.

"How did you know?" he asked finally. What had he done to give himself away?

"I didn't, not really. I knew a boy once who… Well, you start to notice the small signs."

When it became evident that Remus would not be losing his job, they slowly settled into a sort of companionable silence with the odd comment here or there. Remus found he was not quite so tired and certainly wasn't that interested in the idea of broth anymore.

"That first night, at dinner… If you were not able to so ingeniously distract me, would you have used the silverware?"

"Probably. It would have been quite difficult to eat onion soup with my hands."

Black smiled wryly, "What about the silver allergy? I was given to believe it was quite severe."

"Well, I still would have used the silverware, but I would have spent the rest of the night very close to a bin."

The clock on the mantle chimed loudly, causing Black's head to turn suddenly. Remus glanced at the time as well, nearly one in the morning.

Remus made to rise, saying he should really get some sleep, but the movement sent a burning down his side again. Very quickly, Black was pushing him back into the chair, as Remus was bent over gasping at the pain. He had forgotten all about it.

"And what have you done to yourself?" He asked Remus. He would have laughed at the scolding tone in Black's voice if he were not a little preoccupied with stopping the fresh blood flow.

Black pushed aside his coat and unbuttoned his red-stained shirt. Apparently the layers of gauze Remus had used were soaked through from his stumble over the table outside. He shook his head at the hasty job he had done. "Stay here; I'll fetch something to clean this up."

"No. Don't. See, it's already stopped," Remus grasped his shoulder before he could rise and vanish again. "I'm fine, I just forgot."

Black gave a short laugh, "You forgot." Then he looked Remus in the eyes. From where he kneeled before him, the two were at eye level and almost uncomfortably close. Nervously, Remus cleared his throat and licked his lips, but forgot what he was going to say, immediately distracted by Black's hands still on his stomach. He watched as one of those hands rose slowly to hover over his shoulder and then his face, dancing with indecision. He looked back at Black's face and was caught in the dark shale grey of his eyes. Perhaps the expression in his own eyes matched his, for a moment later his hand slid behind Remus' neck and blunt lips pressed fiercely at his own.

Breathing heavily, Black pulled away only far enough to press his forehead to Remus' and for a minute the only sound was that of their ragged breaths and the blood driving through their ears. Then he pulled away and was gone from the library before Remus could restart his thoughts.

He dropped back in the armchair and heard a faint crackle as he did so. His mind, needing anything else to focus on, managed to hear it. Remus pulled a small photograph out from behind him. From it a young girl with raven hair and green eyes smiled back at him, laughing silently.


	5. Jail Cell Mind

_(Jail Cell Mind)_

Sirius collapsed onto the foot of the bed. For the sake of appearances, he had been granted the privilege of using his own bed again. However that had the unfortunate added bonus of his wife as a roommate and not a moment to himself to just _think._

What had he done? Well, he knew very well what had happened in the library, but it had been as if his actions were not his own. He was a little in awe. And to top it all, he had managed to forget. The hour itself had actually passed by without his notice. All week he had been dreading this night and then, just the very company of this man washed all that pain and anxiety away.

He had no right to forget.

Face buried in his hands, Sirius was only aware of Reagan's entrance when the door slammed shut behind her. She paid him no heed as she floated, no doubt drunkenly, towards her dressing room, unclasping her jewellery as she went.

_She _had no right.

Where for so long there had been little anything but numbness, Sirius was suddenly overcome with anger, passion, grief.

"So where have you been hiding all night, Sirius? You have no idea how embarrassed I was that you would be so disrespectful as to not even attempt to be a congenial host tonight. No. That's not right. I'm sure you just didn't care. You are by far too caught up in your own moroseness."

Incredulous, Sirius rose to face her. He watched detachedly as the stand next to the bed crashed to the floor, crystal shattering and contents skidding into the dark corners of the room.

Reagan jumped up from her seat before her vanity mirror, shock and fear plain on her face. Had he done that? Apparently.

"What do you expect of me, Reagan? I do not understand how you can forget her so easily, but can you really not understand why I cannot stand to be around one more falsely smiling face today? Today! How could you go and have a party on this day? Of all days!"

Sirius realised he was yelling now but somehow couldn't bring himself to care. His wife stood silently by the door frame, eyes cast to the ground and visibly shaking. When she finally did look up, her eyes were red and her face creased in agony. He waited for her to scream back at him.

When she did finally speak, it was only a chilling whisper. "How could you say such a thing? Of course I couldn't- She was-" Tears flowed freely down her reddened cheeks now. She pressed one hand to her eyes and gasped for a moment. Sirius stood stock still. He had never seen her this way before. Well, once, when they had first found out…

"Sirius! I had to. I needed to forget her to go on living. It was so hard… So hard. I needed someone, but where were you? You shut yourself away for weeks! I almost, I thought you had gone mad-"

"I did go mad."

"Well we could not both wallow in our pain! Sirius! And you accuse me of such things. This party? Perhaps it is not the most appropriate way to handle such a thing, but I couldn't be alone. I couldn't be alone…" She lifted her head to stare defiantly at him now, "And I knew I would not have you to comfort me. So will you hate me for needing to surround myself with friends? For attempting to survive?"

Sirius could not handle the battering of his mind. He turned and left. Reagan might have called to him, but he could not hear her. All he could hear now were the words from that night.

_We're sorry… Sorry…Someone take him out of here… It is a terrible thing, to loose a child…_

* * *

_**I know this one was a little shorter, but it seemed like it deserved a chapter of its own.**_


	6. Silver Sun

_(Silver Sun)_

"_Which one is your star?"_

_Sirius hardly had to search, he pointed. "It's very pretty."_

_He snorted in laughter, "Oh? So do you think I'm 'pretty'?"_

_Dancing green eyes observed him solemnly for a moment before she reached out with tiny, graceful hands to hold his face, "You are very pretty, Daddy," she said with all the decisiveness of a five year old. And then her pursed mouth split into a wide grin._

_Sirius stood, throwing the girl with raven curls to match his own over his shoulder. She shrieked in laughter. She clung tightly as Sirius mounted ancient stone step after ancient stone step before climbing out into the half roofed tower room, the stars glittering like his daughter's eyes._

_He sat her down on one of the bared blocks of the wall, so large she only took up half of it, before swinging his legs over the edge to dangle in the air. Immediately he pulled her into his lap so she would be safe. Always safe._

"_So, do I get a star, too?" She inquired, tilting her head back to look at him upside down._

"_Well, I suppose if anyone here is pretty enough to have a star, it is you. Which one would you like?"_

_She surveyed to night sky before pointing out no doubt the largest shining thing in it, "That one!"_

_He laughed, "Well, that is in fact the moon, which is not a star at all, though you certainly deserve it. Perhaps for your birthday." _

_Her nose scrunched as she turned to look at him once more, "I was only joking."_

"_Ah. How silly of me." She bobbed her head in agreement._

"_What about that one?" This time she pointed out a small star very close to Sirius. "Well, that settles it then. We have our Johanna star."_

_She sat back in his lap again, seemingly quite pleased with herself now. She pulled one of his arms closer around herself and nuzzled in. They sat watching the night pass by in silence. _

_Sirius glanced down at the tiny being in his arms as the sky began to lighten, barely perceptibly. She was fast asleep, a stray, curling lock fallen over her eyes to rest on her pink cheek._

_She was far more beautiful than any of the stars the sky could offer._

* * *

After somehow making it back to his room in a haze the night before, Remus had not been able to sleep for more than a few hours. Invariably his dreams would wend their way to a dark haired, grey eyed man, and nothing that happened then could be considered 'restful', sleep or no.

Perhaps an hour before dawn, Remus had given up on the whole affair and for whatever reason, had pulled out some papers and a couple sticks of charcoal. Sitting cross legged at the little table in his room, situated in front of a window well placed to watch the sun rise. It was quiet and peaceful at this time of day. With the Blacks' houseguests all passed out somewhere safely until late morning, early afternoon, Remus could think.

For an hour or so he did a few half-hearted sketches, but nothing seemed to really be worth spending much time on. It was not long before he dropped his charcoal in exasperation, to stretch his fingers and stare out the window, waiting for inspiration. Somewhere a bird sang to the sun. Leaves and tall grass danced with the wind. Remus' muse escaped his contemplation.

He considered trying a sketch of Black, but that seemed oddly too personal. For whom, he wasn't sure, but all the same. Then suddenly he put down his papers and went to the side table by his bed. He returned after some rummaging and inspected the worn photograph silently. Perhaps Sirius was not the black-haired person he had the urge to draw.

Remus laid the portrait down gently, feeling it was very important, and began to work out a sketch.

* * *

For three days the two men had been extremely cautious around each other. Neither mentioned the night of Remus' return and in fact, saw very little of each other.

Somehow feeling as if he knew his wife a little better, perhaps enough to understand, though he could never forgive, Sirius made an effort to be more available while her guests were still at the house. The occupation seemed to help speed the terrible day away, but he could not help but feel guilty for that.

And yesterday, finally, the last of their visitors had left for their own homes.

Sirius could not put off speaking to Remus any longer and in all honesty, he truly wished to see him again. To speak with him. Remus' voice was always calming, never judgmental. And more than that, Sirius was lonely. He longed for someone to talk to who didn't _know._

He first checked the library, but it was empty with the exception of an abandoned coffee mug. It was evening and Remus' own time, but he seemed to be more often than not to be found in the library anyways. It was just as well that he wasn't this time, though. Sirius wanted to speak to him in some privacy first. The wide open room was hardly the place for such… meetings.

He turned immediately to go to Remus' room and then stopped quite suddenly. What if Remus didn't want this? Sirius had thinking only about how his arrival had seemed to be meant only to save him, and that night… Well, they had both been a little shocked at the sudden development of the night, and perhaps Remus just hadn't wanted to say anything, or had been too embarrassed.

But he had not left.

If he was completely against Sirius, he would have left. Right?

Sirius stopped himself and turned around five times before he finally made it to Remus' door. Such an innocuous thing, the door, and yet, it seemed as if it was the sole barrier to one of two things: overwhelming pleasure or humiliating disappointment.

But he needed to know.

As he raised his hand to knock, the door flung open of its own accord. On the other side was a, no doubt, caught off guard librarian.

"Uh, hello…" Remus' cheeks coloured and Sirius found himself distracted for a moment.

"I wanted to talk to you," he stated roughly. Well, obviously he wanted to talk to him.

The gold eyes across from him went softer, and Remus did not step back from him, though he had moved quite close now. Barely a foot separated them.

Sirius took this as a good sign.

He opened his mouth to begin, realising this was maybe something he should have thought out how to say beforehand, but Remus beat him to it.

"You don't want me…" he said quietly, looking resigned and distressed at the same time. And thought he seemed to want to push Sirius away, he leaned even closer.

For his part, Sirius could only gape at him.

"I- I'm dangerous to be around. An embarrassment. Besides that, you're, you're married," he almost choked on the word"

"Do you think I was unaware I didn't love my wife? This marriage was never real, Remus." He reached out to ran a hand down his sharp, angular face.

"I'm dangerous," he reaffirmed, though his voice shook slightly.

"What have I to lose?"

Indecision warred on the man's face, and Sirius almost thought he would have to force Remus to let him love him, but it was Remus who pulled Sirius into the room, hands grasping his face, entwined in his hair. Sirius pushed the door shut with his free hand, and was instantly pressed against the wall. He then devoted both of his hands to exploring Remus' shoulders, face, chest.

They were matched for height perfectly and Remus was thin and well muscled. Sirius shuddered as the tip of his tongue traced the bottom of his lip, and returned the favour by running a hand down Remus' side, beneath his shirt, luxuriating in the warmth from his skin. He grasped Remus' hips and ground into him.

After so long being numbed to the world, the pleasure racing through his veins was overpowering. He shivered and gasped.

Then stifling air replaced Remus' body as he pulled away, though not entirely, his hands lingering at Sirius' neck. The empty feeling that crashed down on him scraped at his raw nerves. His eyes were captured by the trail of lightly freckled skin, bared by his unbuttoned shirt. But when he shifted, something behind him wiped all traces of warm freckles from his mind

"I- Sirius…" His voice trailed off as he followed Sirius' stare to the charcoal portrait lying on the table behind him. His head spun back, and he kept his eyes trained on Sirius now. Who knows what he thought he would do.

Looking up at him from the plain table, so carefully tidied, was a drawing of a little girl with long black locks and green eyes. The portrait was in black and white, but Sirius knew the very finest of detail in those eyes. He knew they were green.

Sirius pushed away from the table to walk, entranced towards the facsimile of his child. Peeking out from beneath it was the original photograph. He carefully lifted it from the table, not disturbing anything else.

Always he carried this with him. Somehow, somehow he had managed to forget it. He was ashamed of himself. The very thing he accused Reagan of, and he had not even noticed her missing from his pocket.

He didn't wait for Remus to say anything. There was nothing to be said. There was no anger, no resentment, nothing. He tucked the photograph gently into his breast pocket and left the room.

* * *

**Please Review, it's a good thing, like Recycling.**


	7. You Are Not Alone

**R & S aren't mine, but everyone knows that already.**

**

* * *

**_(You Are Not Alone)_

Remus didn't know what to say. Whatever grief he had awoken in Sirius, he did not want to intrude, but as he had walked out, looking quite grave, Remus had wanted to comfort him. For the night though, he could not make himself follow.

At first, his instinct had been to destroy the drawing which had been so offensive, but he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he had carefully wrapped it in some onion paper and had gone to bed.

All the next day, Remus could hardly concentrate on his work. He didn't know what he had expected to happen, but this waiting was unbearable. Whatever hell Sirius was in because of him, he was in it alone. The guilt wracked at him, and finally, as dusk came, he went in search of Sirius himself.

He somehow didn't think it would be all that appropriate to ask Sirius' wife where he might be, so at first he took to wandering the expansive estate on his own. When he had first arrived, only weeks ago, this would have been impossibly daunting. Now, however, it was only mostly daunting.

For nearly half an hour he wandered aimlessly about the halls, hoping he would accidentally happen upon him. Soon enough though, he had to admit defeat and decided to try his room. He had avoided this, for the most part, because there was a better chance of running into his wife there. He could only imagine how that would go.

'I'm sorry, Mrs. Black, I was wondering where I might find Sirius. You see last night I was ravishing your husband in my room when he saw a drawing I had done of the little girl's photograph he always carries and, well, he seemed a little upset. Have you seen him anywhere by chance?'

Yes, that would go over nicely.

Remus had never been to the part of the house where the family lived, his time being mostly spent between the library and his room, and occasionally the kitchen, but as he had wandered nearly every other part of the house by now, it was not too difficult to locate.

He knew he had the right rooms when he saw a house elf scurry from one of the tall doors, carrying a basket of Sirius' shirts. He realised this was not the master bedroom, but, really, it wasn't as if he didn't know why Sirius did not share a room with his wife. Particularly if the night before had been any indication.

He knocked awkwardly on the door, still feeling as if he really shouldn't be there. When no answer came, he tried once more. He sighed and was about to turn away and continue his vain search when a tired sounding voice called from the larger, adjacent room.

"He is not there."

Remus coughed uncomfortably and stared at the woman before him. Mrs. Black was standing at her door, looking thin and frail in a pale pink bathrobe. She was not wearing any makeup and her hair was still wet. It hung down her back lifelessly. And she just looked… _Sad. _Profoundly so.

"If you are looking for my husband, he is not there."

"Oh… Thank you," he mumbled, at a loss for any other words.

"You might try the tower," she added before silently shutting her door again.

All Remus could think was, how did two people come to be so broken.

* * *

The whisper of feet climbing the stone steps floated up to him.

Sirius sighed heavily. He wanted to be alone. He wanted Remus to stay. He was sure of the owner of those light footsteps.

Then they stopped, and Sirius could not bring himself to move away from the window in the stone to look at him.

"Who was she?"

He rubbed his hands over his face, pressing too hard against his eyes until pinprick patterns burst across his vision. At the sound of paper sliding over stone, he looked down again. The drawing sat precisely where his daughter had. It seemed like hundreds of years ago.

"Johanna," he whispered hoarsely. He traced her face with his thumb. He had captured her perfectly.

Remus came to lean against the cold stonework next to him.

"Your daughter?" It was not really a question. Who could not see the similarities.

"It was last year. Just last year. It feels like its been longer. I suppose hell isn't supposed to pass quickly."

Remus did not seem shocked by such a proclamation.

"What happened?" he asked, again his voice managing to sooth Sirius.

"We decided to take her with us, last year, on a trip to Budapest. She begged for days, and I could hardly bare to part with her when she didn't. She was seven years old, she could handle the trip.

Well, on the night we were meant to go to some event she told me she felt sick. She didn't want me to leave. I thought she was just trying to make me stay with her. I should have.

It snowed that night. Afterwards, we took a carriage back to the hotel. Her nurse said she had gone to bed with a fever. We called a healer just in case… But she- She didn't-" Sirius clutched at the stone beneath him. "She didn't wake up again," he finally whispered.

For a long time they stood in silence. Sirius kept seeing the night's events in his mind. And something else. Something else that had happened.

Remus gripped his arm, gold eyes cast on his own drawing, suddenly so much more poignant than at first.

"You were there."

Remus looked up at him, face empty.

"I have worked so hard to forget that night, but I remember seeing you. Your eyes, disappearing into the dark. I bumped into you on the street."

"It snowed that night," Remus replied.

* * *

**Another shorter one. Read and Review!**


	8. Windy

**Thanks to everyone for thir reviews! And like we all know, the boys don't belong to me.  
Enjoy.**

* * *

_(Windy)_

Remus did not return to his room until well after dawn.

He felt drained. He could hardly bring himself to do anything more in preparation for sleep than kick off his shoes.

When Sirius had spoken of Budapest, of the snow, he had remembered him. He had remembered quite clearly. What, at the time had not stayed with him for more than a few seconds, now seemed like one of the most momentous events in his history. The night he had met Sirius. The night Sirius had lost his child.

When he awoke the next day, he made his way to the library. Sirius was there with a mug of coffee in his hands. Another sat at the desk Remus had been using for his work.

Sirius' back was to him when he entered, his concentration on one of the ledgers Remus had been using. He seemed changed. Relieved maybe. It was in the way he stood and smiled tiredly when he saw Remus.

"I had no idea I even owned most of these," he said, indicating the detailed list of titles.

"Well, that's not really a surprise." Remus grinned, "I had no idea you were a morning person."

"I'm not. Mornings are unholy. Their only purpose is to be slept through. But I wanted to see you."

He could feel his cheeks warm at the comment and couldn't help but smile idiotically into his coffee.

For the most part, Sirius stayed with him in the library as he worked. Mostly he seemed to want to know about Remus, sometimes he would read a bit of this book or that as Remus brought them down from the stacks to be catalogued. Occasionally, he would just sit and watch Remus writing. His hand might rest where he could curl his fingers around Remus'.

On the whole, he was making it very difficult to concentrate on anything other than the shadow along Sirius' jaw, or the fall of his hair, or the look in his eyes.

Not that he was complaining.

All the while though, he could feel his chest tightening. He tried to ignore it. But every time he wanted to press his lips to Sirius' jaw, it became more difficult to breathe, and he didn't think it had much to do with the thoughts that those kind of thoughts led to.

In the evening, Sirius had dinner brought in for the two of them in the library. His memory flashed back to the image of the Lady Black, looking so resigned to her sorrow and a jolt of guilt marred the warm sensation that had been spreading through him all day.

Sirius walked with him to his room after they had eaten. At the door he ran his fingertips along Remus' jaw and kissed him. Their bodies reacted intensely but he ignore the tightness pooling in his stomach and said goodnight. He half expected Sirius to ask if he could come in, but he merely bent to kiss him chastely before leaving.

Remus let his head fall onto his pillow, heavily, whirling, the weight still there. But the drain of the night before caught up to him and it was not long before he was sleeping obliviously. A dreamless sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, his body ached with the need for more sleep, but he could not make himself relax enough for that. The sun was still fairly low in the sky. Not yet noon, even.

Instead he paced his small room. He was tired and restless, a terribly combination. This was not the first time he had felt the need to move. To just _move. _

Remus made himself sit still long enough to pen a note to Sirius. It was impossible for him to calm down enough to say everything he wanted to, so he settled for a short line of explanation before jumping up again.

He began to gather his small collection of belongings, minus one portrait, and at once the pressure in his chest began to subside.

* * *

**I tried to make it longer, haha, but the creative muse insisted on leaving you a cliffhanger. As much as I'd like to, I'm not even going to give you a double update today; we're too close to the end!**

**-Primavera**


	9. Almost Lover

**A few people have asked if I'm going to bring in any other characters from the HP world, and originally I hadn't planned to, but in all honesty, in his world, Sirius would no doubt come across some other members of the aristocracy, wouldn't he?**

**So if you recognise a character, they no doubt aren't my creation.**

* * *

_(Almost Lover)_

A note. A _note._

It chafed at him, haunted him like Poe's heart beneath the floorboards. He carried it with him now, alongside the photograph of his daughter. He couldn't bring himself to be rid of it.

All it had said was that he needed to leave. No real explanation, not even the courtesy of a lie. Just that he _needed _to leave. Needed. As if he couldn't control it. His actions were out of his hand. And there may have once been more, but Remus had torn off the bottom of the page.

Sirius glared out the window, the sky a terrible, roiling mess of clouds. It seemed very like the atmosphere of his thoughts, with the exception of the odd misting of rain outside.

His eyes went back the paper in his hand with Remus' last words to him and he scowled. The ink was all blotched and he could hardly read the script, already smeared by Remus' left handed writing form. He wouldn't have believed this had been drafted by the same hand that had carefully written out each line in the ledger books he had left behind him. He almost would have believed Remus had been forcibly taken from the house, except that he had taken care to make the bed before leaving. Before leaving him.

He got up from his seat as his wife entered, not willing to be in the same room with her. She caught sight of the expression on his face as he passed by her and his anger seemed only to fuel her own.

"Damn it, Sirius! You have been in this mood for two weeks now. I can't stand to be around you like this. And I suppose you're off to sulk in the library again-"

Sirius slammed his fist against the wall, then, but he did not turn to look at her. He stood for a moment, trying to hold off words he did not want to say, not to her. He needed to speak to Remus. He needed to yell at Remus. He needed to touch Remus.

He wandered his own halls, uncomfortable everywhere they led. Usually, Sirius _would_ go to his library, but he had not been in there since Remus had left. It did not feel like his library anymore.

* * *

Remus felt like he had been living on trains for weeks now. It didn't seem to matter where he went, he could not be content. Another European countryside flew by his compartment window as he wrote a brief letter to his mother. He would soon arrive at his destination and he hoped the greater sense of permanence attached to this job would encourage him to stay on longer than the five days he'd been in Paris. Or the seven he'd managed to live through in Berlin after that. He'd only managed three days in Valencia, but his Spanish was never that strong anyways.

In any event, he was confidant he could at least write a message as to where he could be contacted for the time being.

A sharp tap on his compartment's sliding door caught him off guard, and he was knocked breathless at the sight of the dark-haired man standing there-

"Check your ticket, sir?"

Remus took a deep breath and felt his heart start beating again. He had to stop doing this. He saw Sirius everywhere he went, in every man with dark hair. He scolded himself as he handed the man his ticket. There was a reason he had left.

He just wasn't entirely sure what that was yet.

* * *

Sirius trailed a finger down his neck, over his ribs, letting it linger against his hip for a moment and enjoying the barely audible moan rising from the back of Remus' throat. In reply, he let out a deep, shuddering breath.

Remus leaned over him, supported by one arm curved around the side of Sirius' face. He pressed against him, one leg slipping between Sirius' while his free hand twined in the other's fingers above their heads.

But then the content smile disappeared from Remus' face and he looked up as if listening to some voice Sirius could not hear. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pulled himself upright and backed away, slowly, almost wandering away, until he disappeared into the same realm as the voiceless voice--

Sirius jerked upwards in his bed, wide awake now. His chest ached a little.

He had been having the same dream for a week now. Each time he awoke he was nearly crushed by the feeling of abandonment again, barely able to recall the elation that had come before it.

Sirius squinted through the early morning darkness to the mantle clock on the far wall. With a resigned sigh, he pulled himself out of his bed and stumbled over to his closet.

After he had showered and dressed, Sirius made his way slowly down to the dining room. He could barely bring himself to do so. Every action he did was heavy and meaningless. He felt as if he were in mourning.

Reagan was already at the table, picking at a dish of cantaloupe. She looked up warily when he came in. Her eyes were nearly as dark as his must have been, shadows made her face seem hollow and he wondered vaguely if she had been sleeping as little as he had been, though he new it could not be for the same reason.

He sat down across from her and surveyed the spread of fruits in the watery morning light. He picked up a grapefruit and mindlessly cut it into halves before setting it before him, untouched. He did not want it when he had picked it up and could not bring himself to eat it now.

Reagan's eyes were still on him, though she had not said anything. He sighed, something he seemed to do quite often of late, and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"What is it?" He did not even have the heart to scowl at her.

"It's all gone to hell, hasn't it?"

"Seems like a very general list, but, yes."

"I had thought- No, I had hoped, that after so many years you might have at least grown a little fond of me. That we could have at least been companions in this marriage. You cannot even bear to speak with me."

"What do you want me to say, Reagan?"

She said nothing and Sirius felt a weight of pity for what he had done to this woman's life. Pity and anger, because he did not want to pity her. And his life was ruined as well, wasn't it?

"You do not need to say anything. Only do something for me," her voice was weak, as if she had long ago given up, "At least pretend. For tonight. Pretend you can bear to see me, touch me."

Sirius nodded tightly. Taking her small consolation, Reagan nodded once as well and resumed a brisk posture, as if she were now sitting across from a business partner.

"Hélène said her daughter would be home from university; she'll be at dinner with us."

After that brief meeting, Sirius did not see his wife for the rest of the day. He went about his free hours like a shade, hardly aware of the newspaper he read, of the tea he drank, the lunch of grilled salmon that was brought to him in his study. When it was nearly time for them to leave, Sirius dressed, not even taking in the colours of his clothing, and he met his wife at the door.

When they arrived at her friends' house, he took her arm, and greeted their hosts and replied when spoken to, but the whole time the only thought in his mind was that this feeling, this going through the motions, seemed very familiar.

Absentmindedly, Sirius ran his hand over the side of his dinner jacket where a photograph and a note rode silent, yet leaden in his pocket. Yes. The two seemed very much the same.

Before dinner, all the guests were mingling in the drawing room. He cast a quick glance around the room; he hated everyone. Sirius detested the idea of speaking with even a single one of them, and tonight he could not care about the charade. So he let himself be led around the room and whenever anyone spoke to him directly, Reagan would laugh and answer for him. When he caught sight of the Malfoys approaching, she clenched his arm. "Sirius! Try to behave yourself. Please do not start another brawl with that man tonight!" she hissed at him. Sirius grinned at the memory of his last visit to society and the bruised jaw he had left Malfoy with. If his wife's apprehensive look was anything to judge by, a grin was not quite the answer she had been wanting. It was perhaps for the best that the hostess then invited everyone into the dining room.

He met Hélène's daughter, well, stepdaughter, she was barely ten years younger than he, and kissed her hand obligingly. Then he took his seat and proceeded to pay no further attention to her. Much of the evening had already passed in a blur of faceless people, voices blending in, and he had no doubt she would quite quickly meld among them until someone inquired as to how she was finding university.

"Oh, it is wonderful. At first it was a little difficult to get acquainted with anyone because, well, obviously I'm not a native speaker, but I am enjoying my courses immensely. In particular, my literature course. The professor is amazing; he never speaks very loudly, but his voice just absolutely captures you. A Mr. R. J. Lupin. In fact, I met him in the university's library before I even knew he was one of my professor's, he is only a few years older than most of the students there…"

Sirius was having trouble hearing the words that seemed to flow too quickly from her mouth now, though he had heard that part plainly. After a moment, he realised he was staring so intently at the girl that he must be the cause of the deep blush she was cultivating.

Without much regard for what direction the conversation had moved on to, he cleared his throat and asked her, "Would that be a Remus Lupin?"

The girl blushed again and this time Sirius wasn't sure if it was that he was speaking directly to her, or that it was mention of her young professor, but he brushed the clench of vain jealousy aside when she nodded. "Yes! Er, yes. Do you know him, Mr. Black?"

Out the corner of his eye, Sirius saw his wife's stricken expression for only a moment before she masked it.

"Mm. He worked for me for a brief period. Ah, what university did you say you were attending?"

"Oh, the University of Amsterdam."

* * *

**So it was a very brief cameo from the Malfoys, but I already had this written and I didn't want the story to change too much, which it invariably would have once they got involved. : D**

**-Primavera**


	10. Walking With the Ghost

**Oh god, here it is: The Last Chapter! Enjoy!!**

* * *

_(Walking With the Ghost)_

"Don't you dare disgrace me like this! Don't you dare! Not again." She screamed, "You cannot do this to me!" Reagan looked as if she were about to collapse. The anger on her face vanished then, replaced by a terrible defeated anguish.

"Do you love me? Do you have any feelings about me whatsoever?"

"What, I- What does that matter?"

"Staying here, to play house with you, to live without love, that is not a life."

"I thought- I thought it was enough! I thought I-"

"With Johanna it _was _enough!"

"But Johanna is gone." It was barely a whisper

"Yes."

"Don't you dare go to him."

* * *

Something felt off. Remus could barely concentrate on his cooling coffee, let alone the papers he was attempting to grade. Perhaps it was his 'new start'. How long had it been since he had actually lived somewhere? Owned an apartment? Received mail?

Remus look over the small balcony at streets if the city and the waters of the canals, shining in the pink and gold light of the sinking sun. It was devastating and beautiful but… it did not feel like home. But who was he to judge? He had been living out of suitcases since he was nineteen.

Home.

Such a concept was more foreign to him than the city in which he now dwelt.

He searched his memory for something to hold on to. Something that felt like home. For the hundredth time that evening his thoughts returned to Sirius. For a very brief period, he had known a sort of comfort. Perhaps that was what home felt like. And he had ruined it.

He thought about his _difficult bloodline_ and scowled. It was not a matter of parentage that could have made him leave. He had only been in the Black house for a little over a month, but he had seen how devastated their lives were. If they had been able, even if it was the slightest chance, to go back to their lives, it would have been Remus destroying that last chance. His whole being had forced him to leave. Not something in his blood.

But whatever had driven him away from that place, it had destroyed any hope for-

Well, it little mattered now. He could not go back. How could he explain his actions? How could he rightly return to that place with no reason for his disappearance and ask that man to ignore his family?

Remus felt quite queasy now, and pushed his coffee away. Whether it was caused by longing to be there or the image of the torn apart lives of those who dwelt there, he could not bring himself to examine the situation closely enough. It would only cause the dull ache in his chest to return.

* * *

For nearly a week, Sirius fought with himself over the decision to go, to find him. Though Reagan had begged and cursed him, she was not what held him back. She would be able to find a happier life without him. Sometimes he even believed he held her back, that she only fought for this lost cause because she did not want to deal with the embarrassment of a broken marriage. But she was strong, that was something he had come to learn in the past few weeks. And he wanted her to have the happiness he had almost had in those short days with Remus.

One morning, he awoke to clattering down the hallway past his room. When the confusion cleared, he realised it was coming from Reagan's room. He threw back the covers and pulled open the door. What had she done? Was she alright?

Sirius was greeted by the sight of a line of suitcases bobbing down the narrow hall, carried off, down the stairs towards the front door.

"I've decided," he heard from behind him. He turned to see Reagan coming out of her room, a cloak wrapped tightly about her shoulders, hr face was blank.

"I am tired of living life like a ghost, and perhaps you were correct when you said that playing house was not enough. Therefore, _I _am leaving _you_." A very small smile touched her lips as she made her pronouncement, "There is nothing to be ashamed of, I have decided. Very few marriages can survive the- the loss of a child." The small smile slipped away, and she looked away for a moment, trying so hard to master herself. When she turned back, her mask of calm was in place again.

Reagan walked slowly down the hallway towards him, and then held out her small, gloved hand. He took it and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then he watched his wife turn and walk confidently towards the door. There was a strange relief, that the hardest part had been taken out of his hands. At the same time, he found he was both proud that she had taken these steps and then there was a sense of loss as well. After all he had lived with the woman for seven years.

When he heard the front doors close and latch, Sirius returned to his own room in an attempt to find sleep again.

Alone in the house, Sirius could no longer stop himself from dwelling on the thought of going to find Remus.

Remus. He had left, would he even want Sirius to come? He would have written. If he had wanted… If he had wanted _him_, Sirius wouldn't have needed to win his location from a young girl.

But could he really die here slowly, simply because he believed that was Remus' wish? Wouldn't it be better to _know_?

He went back and forth in this manner for days until, one evening, very late, he found himself buying a train ticket in London.

* * *

Remus read swiftly through the papers he had not finished the night before. He had not had class this last period and while he might normally have taken his work away with him, he did not trust himself to work on it anymore than he had before. His thoughts could not focus, and every time he sat down with the intention of working on _anything_ the familiar clenching anxiety would press on him again.

But he was determined not to leave again. This time it was not merely a simple matter of picking up and leaving, no matter how compelling the urge to go back.

Remus caught himself and scowled at the thought. There was nowhere to go back to.

Finally giving in, he packed away his work and joined the mass of students going between classes.

Something pulled him, and Remus could not help but go. He felt he would have fled down the halls if there were space for him to do so, and even now he was moving at a barely restrained run.

He tried to slow his heart with his pace. It felt as if he needed to be somewhere, or as if he were late, but not really. More like, if he did not rush, he would miss it. He simply didn't know what _it_ was.

Remus reached up to run a trembling hand through his hair and his arm caught someone in the shoulder.

He spun around, "I…" The words died in his throat, which was suddenly very dry.

* * *

The woman he had spoken to had very grudgingly directed Sirius to the proper department of the University, and it wasn't until he passed a mirror in one of the mostly empty grand hallways that he realised he did rather look as if he had slept in his clothing, which he had, and smelled of stale cigarette smoke, which he could hardly help as the elderly woman sharing his train compartment smoked like she'd been born with a cigarette between her fingers. Sirius attempted to straiten the wrinkles in his shirt as he walked, but really quickly gave up on the lost cause.

Classes must have ended for suddenly the halls were filled with students. Sirius pressed through them, growing frustrated at the further delay. If he lost him now, he would not find him again. He did not know where Remus was staying, no doubt the University would withhold such personal information. They would surely tell Remus he had been asked after. And what then?

Would he disappear again?

There was much he seemed to not know about his present circumstances, the reaction awaiting his arrival was foremost, and such insecurity was strange to him, but even the slightest promise of what could be was enough to make it worthwhile.

A rush of adrenaline flooded his veins at the thought of turning the next corner and as quickly as Remus had disappeared, he could be back again.

A body slammed into his shoulder and he growled in aggravation at being slowed even further. He turned involuntarily to apologise and was stopped dead, his breath caught, his eyes locked onto the dark gold held by his own. Much like the first time they had met.

Only this time neither of them could walk away.

* * *

**Oh man, Please Review everyone. Tell me what you think about the ending. I thought at first it might need an epilogue since the chapter just seemed to naturally end here, but… I don't know, it just seems more perfect for it to end where they began? **

**Anyways, I hope everyone enjoyed the story. It was one of those things I just had to write. At first I started out looking for a fic like this, but I never found one, and before long I was writing it myself. So hopefully it's what all of you were looking for, too!**

**-Primavera**


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